


You Were Only Waiting

by jakia



Series: 1950s Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Vintage Klaine, 1950s.  Kurt Hummel is a lounge singer in Los Angeles.  Blaine Anderson is a famous 50’s crooner, American heartthrob, and lead singer of Blaine and the Pips.   They went to high school together, but haven’t seen each other in years.  This is the story of how they meet, again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Were Only Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I just really wanted to make sure I had something for Klaine AU Friday this week, because I’m working on another fic that’s a 1960s AU when this scene hit me and wouldn’t leave my brain. Help I might be addicted to time swap!Klaine.
> 
> Enjoy!

\--  
  
 _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

* * *

  
  


“You sound like an angel.”

Kurt does  _not_  have time for this.  “Despite what it might look like, sir,” he says without even turning around, his arms heavy with the weight of his belongings in the darkened Hollywood streets.   They aren’t exactly in the nice part of town.  “I’m not actually so desperate as to sell myself just yet, so go proposition someone else.  Maybe an actual prostitute this time.”

“I didn’t mean to offend!” The stranger behind him says quickly, and Kurt sighs like he doesn’t believe him.  “I saw your show tonight, and I wanted to tell you how good you were.”

Kurt’s gaze softens as he looks over at his admirer.  “That’s very kind of you to say.  I wish my boss felt the same way as you—I might still have a job if he did.”

“He  _fired_  you?” His new-found fan gasps, and Kurt thinks, for the briefest of moments, that the man looks familiar to him, somehow.  “How _could_  he? Seeing you up there tonight was one of the most beautiful things I ever saw.”

Color rushes to Kurt’s cheeks.  “Thank you kindly, Mr.—“ he studies his stranger’s face when it hits him, suddenly, where he knows this man from.   _“Blaine Anderson!”_

His box of belongs fall to the ground, and Kurt finds he does not care whether they’ve broke or not, or if they get lost or stolen.   _Blaine Anderson_ , of the famous  _Blaine and the Pips_ , is  _talking_  to  _him_.

More importantly, he just told him that he sang beautifully.

Kurt might actually be dreaming right now.

“Aw,” Mr. Anderson chuckles, sliding off his (admittedly terrible) glasses.  “Did my clever disguise not fool you? I’ll have to be more creative in the future.”  He winks at Kurt, and Kurt swears his heart stops.

“Mr—Mr. Anderson,” Kurt gasps, because he must be dreaming, he  _must_  be.  Boys as beautiful and as talented as Blaine don’t just come up and compliment people like Kurt.  Especially not for a second time in his life.  “I—I’m such a  _huge_  fan—“

“None of that nonsense.  Call me Blaine,” Mr. An—Blaine tells him, with his most charming smile.  “Is it true? Did you really get fired from the Lounge?”

Kurt frowns, and hopes Blaine can’t see the many (all three plus Blaine’s first solo album)  _Blaine and the Pips_  records that fell out of Kurt’s box of stuff.  “I—yes, unfortunately.  Apparently I don’t hold enough universal appeal for them, and they’ve replaced me with somebody else.  Tonight was my last show.”

“Well, it was definitely was one of your best, I thought.” Blaine tells him, and Kurt’s heart threatens to jump out his throat.   _He’s seen me more than once--?_

Instead, Blaine bends down and starts picking up Kurt’s belongings, like the gentleman Kurt remembers him to be.  
  
He stops, however, when he finds Kurt’s copy of his first record.  “Wow.” He says, holding the faded cover in awe.  “I didn’t know anyone actually paid money for this.”

Kurt smiles softly.  Blaine’s solo album is one of his most treasured belongings, to tell the truth, though he knows a lot of people disagree, if record sales are anything to go by.  “It’s my favorite, actually.”

“ _Really?_ ” Blaine asks, as if he can’t quite actually believe it.

“I told you, I’m a big fan.”

Blaine holds out the faded record cover to Kurt in awe.  “Before  _the Pips_ , even?”

Kurt sets the record back into his box, and breathes.  It’s now or never, he thinks.  “Since high school, actually.”

Blaine stares at him as he stands.  “You’re from  _Lima?_ ”

“Yeah,” Kurt laughs, trying to stop himself from shaking. “We, um, we went to McKinley together.  Before it closed and the school district lines got redrawn.”

Blaine blinks at him.

“You, uh,” Kurt blushes horribly, because this is the fondest memory of his entire  _life,_  and of course Blaine Anderson, who grew up and became a famous household name in music, doesn’t remember him. “You danced with me.  In--in the boy’s bathroom, when we were sophomores, because I was crying ‘cause the other boys were being so mean to me at the school dance, and you—you asked me to dance with you.”  And then the school closed down a month later because of the desegregation laws, and Blaine went to Dalton and Kurt went to North Central, and they never saw each other again.

Until now.

Blaine’s mouth drops into a small ‘o’ shape; Kurt wishes the asphalt would rise up and swallow him whole.  “I—you probably don’t remember.  That’s okay.  It was a long time ago.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything, at first.  He just pulls his glasses out of his jacket pocket, and slips them onto Kurt’s face.  And Kurt wants to  _die_ , because he hasn’t worn glasses since high school and he must look absolutely  _terrible_  and—

Is Blaine  _blushing?_

“You got tall,” Blaine says, staring straight down at Kurt’s shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.   The tips of his ears are very, very red; Kurt wants to know how his life has come to this. “I didn’t recognize you, at first.”

He’s right—now that they’re grown up, Kurt stands a good few inches taller than him.  “Yeah,” Kurt laughs nervously.  “Puberty hit me late, but when it came it hit like a freight train.  I grew almost a foot right after McKinley closed.”

Oh God, why was he still  _talking_ \--what was  _wrong_  with him?

Blaine, however, finally looks up at him, with an amused expression on his face. “I’ll say.” He whistles, and Kurt wants to  _die_ , because this can’t be real.  Blaine Anderson isn’t  _actually_  flirting with him.

_Is he?_

“Thank you.” Kurt says, because what are you supposed to say to that? Is he supposed to flirt back? Is this a trick, somehow?

Blaine giggles, suddenly, and Kurt feels for a moment like he’s on the wrong end of a joke somehow.  “Don’t look so scared, Pussycat,” he winks, and oh God, he’s  _definitely_  flirting with him, what is Kurt supposed to  _do_ , he doesn’t know how to  _flirt_.  “I don’t bite, I promise. “ He nudges Kurt with his elbow, and Kurt doesn’t know what to  _do_ , he’s never been flirted with before.  Is he supposed to nudge him back? Wink at him?  _Is there some sort of universal sign that says “Yes! Flirt with me! I like it! I’d flirt back but I don’t know how!” that I don’t know about?_   “Besides, I have a proposition for you.”

Kurt almost falls face-first into the pavement; Blaine doesn’t notice.  “One of my Pips is getting married, you see, so we’re going to be down a man very soon.” Blaine says, very seriously, and Kurt has to force himself to pay attention to something other than the color of his eyes.  “And since you seem to be unemployed at the moment, and happen to have the most  _beautiful_  voice—“

“Are you asking me to join  _the Pips?”_  Kurt blurts out, unable to stop himself.

Blaine smiles at him.  “Well, yeah, actually!  If you want to, that is.”

Kurt tries to imagine it for himself—wearing the matching blazer, doo-wopping behind Blaine as he sings his heart out, singing on  _television_ to an audience of  _all of America_ …

It’s not what he originally wanted for himself when he left Ohio to make a name for himself, but God, if it’s not a seductive image!

The best part of it, too, is the chance to sing with Blaine. To dance with Blaine, to see him every day, to flirt back with him, even, if he ever learns how.

How could he say anything but  _yes?_

His eyes shine brighter than any star.  “I’d love to, Blaine.”

“Really?” Blaine asks, bouncing about like an overgrown puppy. 

“Yes!” he giggles, because Blaine looks so  _shocked_  by his answer.  “Did you actually think I’d say no?  A chance to join the famous  _Blaine and the Pips_ , and you thought I’d turn that  _down?_ ”

“Well, I didn’t know!” Blaine defends himself weakly.  “I didn’t know if you already had another job lined up or something!”

“Another jo—you are  _insane_.”  Kurt laughs, swooping down to pick up his box of newly-collected things. He has to stop himself from throwing them in the air and screaming down the streets,  _I’ve joined the Pips! I’ve joined the Pips! Blaine Anderson is flirting with me and I’ve joined the Pips!_

“Let me carry that for you?” Blaine offers, nodding towards the box, but Kurt brushes him off.

“I’ve got it.  It’s not that heavy.”

Blaine walks beside him, amused.  “I know.  I guess I’m just used to remembering a much scrawnier Kurt, that’s all.  You were an awfully little guy back then.”

Kurt doesn’t really have the heart to tell Blaine that  _he’s_  an awfully little guy,  _now_.  Television must be magical, because he doesn’t look nearly so small on teevee.  “You coming home with me, Mr. Pip?” Kurt teases, as Blaine follows beside him like a lost puppy.

“You’re the Pip, not me!” Blaine argues, and Kurt giggles.  “Actually, and I know it’s late so feel free to turn me down, but would you like to go get a cup of coffee with me?  So we can catch up a little, maybe?” He bats his eyelashes, and Kurt flushes to his toes.

Blaine Anderson is the personification of every teenaged dream Kurt ever had, wrapped up nicely in a bow-tie and a song.

“I’d love to.” He says, and smiles at Blaine with bright eyes and a hopeful heart.

It’s a wonderful beginning.

* * *

 

END


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